Winning the Battle
by UndergroundDaydreams
Summary: Sarah is a crap journalist and is given a last-chance assignment to review a world-famous, bad-boy harpist giving a concert to benefit the local children's hospital.


**Winning the Battle**

-o0O0o-

_**Author's Note:**_

_Because I've been in a bit of a writing funk, I asked for a writing prompt the other day and was given this: harp, pay back, chariot, time, apology, sweet, fly._

_My goal is to incorporate all of these words in some way into this story._

_This is what I came up with, so far. I really have no idea what category this goes in. That's always the hardest decision for me when posting a story. I don't want to be put in little boxes. ;)_

-o0O0o-

"Shit, shit, shit!" Sarah let go of the death grip she had on her hair, her head falling to her desk with a _thunk_. The wood was cool, so she stayed like that, letting her chair roll back from the desk, her arms dangling toward the floor. Maybe she could take a nap right here like this and forget this day ever happened. It was pretty comfortable, all considered.

Dan strolled around the corner and stopped short. "So . . ." He ambled up beside her and sat on the corner of her desk. "What up, buttercup?"

"I'm going to get sacked, that's what." Sarah crossed her arms on her desk and looked up at him. "He said I had no imagination. Can you believe that? And since when are journalists supposed to have imagination? Isn't that, like, against the rules, or something?"

"This is about the movie review, then?"

"Yes." She let her head fall back on the desk and covered it with her hands.

"That bad?"

She nodded, making a strangled sort of choking sound.

"How can you mess up a movie review? They're pretty simple—"

"I don't know!" She pushed back, slumping in her chair to glare at him, her one friend in the office, who was perilously close to becoming best buds with the toe of her boot. "That's so not helping!"

He winced. "Sorry."

She waved a hand, instantly deflating. "It's alright. It's not your fault. I just don't know what I'm going to do. How do I keep messing things up? It's just writing, stringing words together, imparting information. It shouldn't be this hard. I know I can do it. I know I can."

"I know . . ."

"But how can I prove it if he won't give me another assignment? He put me on classifieds, Dan. Classifieds! Yard sales and music lessons and wedding dresses never worn. Personal ads . . ."

"Hey, every cloud, Sar. Prince Charming could be just 32 words and 4 lines away. It has been a while—"

"Again, not helping!" She swiveled away from him and slumped further in her chair, staring at last year's Garden Expo calendar hanging lopsided on the wall. It was flipped to October with daffodils in a bicycle basket. It didn't even make sense.

"Don't daffodils bloom in the spring?"

"I don't know." He whirled her back to face him and tossed an envelope in her lap. "Here."

"What's this?" She picked it up and flipped it over.

"It's a ticket to a benefit concert for the children's hospital tomorrow night. I'm supposed to be doing the write up. Take it."

"What about Christine? Don't you want to take her?"

"She doesn't know I have it. I'll take her out to Adolfo's or something, and she won't even know what she's missing. And harp playing's not really my thing. Seriously, take it."

"Really?" She felt tears welling up and clutched the envelope to her chest.

"Really. In a totally platonic, that-night-after-the-primaries-never-happened kind of way"—he lifted her chin and smiled at her—"if you got fired . . . I'd miss you, kid." He held her eyes a moment too long and then stepped back, grabbing his jacket and keys from the desk behind hers. "And, besides, I'd have to eat lunch with Scary Cherie, and a murder on the premises might be newsworthy. Wouldn't want to make the boss man too happy, now, would we?"

"No, we can't have that."

"Don't fuck it up."

"I won't. I promise."

He started to leave but paused in the doorway, looking back at her. "Can I give you a little advice?"

"Please."

"Forget the rules, Sarah; find the passion. You can always tame it in the edits."

She smiled. "Thanks, Dan. Really, thank you so much for this. I don't know how I can repay you—"

"Just do me proud, girl."

"I will. I promise."

He patted the door frame once and gave her a half-salute as he headed toward the elevators. "And have some fun. Peace out, homie. See you Monday."

"Bye, Dan. And thank you!" she called after him. "You're a saint! I won't forget this!"

-o0O0o-

_**Author's Note:**_

_WIP, y'all. Still working this all out in my head. It probably won't be a long one. Thought I'd post the start in the hopes that it might provide the nudge I need to make some story decisions. Hasn't worked out so well for me in the past, but never say never. ;)_

_Disclaimer: Labyrinth (c) Henson & Co.  
_

_Thanks for reading! Please, leave a contribution in the little box. :)_


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